


and now the weather

by writtenFIRES



Series: Egotober 2017 [8]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Branding, Egotober, Scars, WKM, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform, blood mention, did i mention that, people die, yep its that verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenFIRES/pseuds/writtenFIRES
Summary: Egotober Day 8: bad news/Goretober Day 8: burned/brandedIt wasn't very big at all.





	and now the weather

**Author's Note:**

> what do you mean i’m almost ten days late shut up time is a human construct
> 
> i said i was gonna do all the days and _i’m gonna do all the days just you watch me_
> 
> if you don't know who these guys are or what "who killed markiplier" is then wtf are you doing here reading my shitty fanfiction _go watch it on mark's channel right the fuck now_

It wasn't very big at all.

Just a small series of lines, seemingly meaningless, raised on the skin in the form of a terrible scar. They both had one, granted in different places.

Reporter Jim's was on the inside of his right calf, just below the knee.

Cameraman Jim's was tucked away on the inside of his left wrist, directly over his pulse point.

Strangely, the pair of brothers hadn't noticed the markings at all, until they were well settled back at home. Vaguely, they could recall moments of excruciating pain, of their skin being split and their blood spilt. The smell of iron thick in the air; not old, from the murders, but fresh and new and their own. There hadn't been sound, beyond their pained panting, no screams or cries. Horrifying as the brief ordeal had been, the whole thing was forgotten almost as quickly.

It didn't make any sense. Reporter Jim was quick to shrug the anomaly off, seeing as it was out of his sight and didn't really bother him much. His mind was too busy racing with new ideas, new stories to cover, locations to plunder- er, inspect.

Cameraman Jim, on the other hand, found his gaze sliding to the marking more often than not. It was almost always in his peripheral due to his camera work. Like his brother's, the scar didn't hurt much, though it looked as if it should. It looked as if Cameraman Jim should have _died_ from it, honestly. That receiving it should have been excruciating, his wrist torn open, his blood spilling out like a faucet.

Why couldn't they remember? How had they forgotten? How did they survive?

There were such dark forces at work in that mansion. Dark, terrible forces and elusive entities and _murder_. Cameraman Jim had been wary of the locale from the start, but his brother had insisted they cover the groundbreaking story. He swore that Detective had wanted them dead from how often he tried chasing them down.

But no, none of the mansion's occupants had managed to lay a hand on them, so why? Why the markings? Why the selective amnesia? Was the event truly so horrific that their minds had wiped it away for the sake of their own sanity? Why wasn't Reporter Jim as concerned as he was? Why the distinct pattern? _Where were the answers?_

He. Needed. Answers.

Cameraman Jim had never gone to a location on his own. Reporter Jim was always there, by his side or taking up the lead, confident and eager and supportive. But Reporter Jim didn't see anything wrong with their markings and had shrugged off his brother's concerns. He wouldn't have come along even if Cameraman Jim asked; might have discouraged his brother and made him stay home.

Cameraman Jim couldn't just stay home and ignore it any longer. He wanted his answers, and he was going to get them. At least he had his trusty camera in hand, that always made him feel better.

Slipping back into the mansion wasn't difficult. It had been all but abandoned after the insane light show, the fleeing of its staff, the _murders_. No one had dared to step foot in the place and as he crossed the threshold, Cameraman Jim silently questioned his own decision to do so. A glance to the scarring on his wrist was all the reminder he needed.

Answers. He needed answers.

So he went, exploring the dead silence of a once jovial delight frozen in time. He swore in some spaces he could still hear music, or laughter; the clinking of glasses and merriment. In the Detective's borrowed office there were still papers and photographs strewn about, completely untouched and left behind. The kitchen was spotless and abandoned, the wine cellar desolate and empty. The parlor floor was still marred by tape. Jim gave it a wide berth, just out of principle.

In the foyer, beside the stairs, he was surprised to find the elegant mirror cracked and broken beyond repair. When he neared it, an odd static sort of buzzing would start up in his ears, making him shake his head and swat at his ears. It was as if a swarm of angry flies had infiltrated his brain, making it difficult to think.

He quickly moved on. His reflection did not.

Scaling the stairs, the buzzing retreated from his ears, but in its place started up a harsh ringing. The space around him seemed to warp and distort, gaining a greyed tinge. Jim blinked rapidly, shaking his head again, scrubbing at his eyes and checking his camera feed. There was no greyscale marring the image, but instead everything appeared to radiate a red and blue aura. As if he'd initiated some kind of 3D mode. Jim frowned.

_"Help me."_

Jim jumped, startled, and whipped around in search of the sudden whisper in his ear. Nothing. There was nothing, and with the whisper came silence; stability. The greyscale had faded away along with the spatial distortions, leaving Jim addled and more confused than ever. He shook his head.

"Get it together, Jim. You can do this. It's just a house."

Taking a deep breath, Jim pressed on, cautiously pulling open a door into a room of the manor they hadn't explored. Reporter Jim had managed to nab the seer's tools, yes, but they hadn't gotten the chance to explore her personal space. Or had it been Markiplier's? Jim couldn't...

_Screaming. Pain. Blood and agony and Jim clinging to him, him clinging to Jim, both of them sobbing and cowering-_

But wait there hadn't been any screaming. Right? No... no, there was. No? They hadn't been in this room. They _hadn't_... had they? Jim... didn't know. He was so lost. All of his memories were fuzzy, jumbled, nonsensical. If Reporter Jim were here, he could ask. If Reporter Jim were here, he could be reassured. If Reporter Jim were here-

"Jim!"

What? "Jim?"

"Jim! Jim, where are you? Jim?"

It _was_ Jim. Reporter Jim. He... he must have come looking for him. He must have been wondering where Camerman Jim slipped off to. He must have... how long had Cameraman Jim been gone? It only felt like an hour or so but with all the weird happenings, with all the distractions and memory problems, maybe... maybe it had been longer. Too long. Reporter Jim was probably worried sick.

"Jim!"

"Jim! I'm here! I'm coming, just hang on!" Cameraman wasn't one for shouting, or even really speaking much, but he could always make an exception for his brother. Besides, the house was empty now, so there was no need for quiet. Quickly, he left the seance room, hustling back over to the balcony.

"Jim! There you are. I was so worried, Jim, I thought something had happened. You can't just run off like that, Jim, you know how I get, you know how I get scared." There was his brother, standing down at the base of the stairs in front of the mirror and staring up at him with wide, concerned brown eyes.

Cameraman Jim felt his stomach twist with guilt. "I'm sorry, Jim. I just wanted some answers. I just had to know."

"About what, Jim? What could bring you back here? It's dangerous, Jim! We need to go, now!"

"It's the marks, Jim. These marks... don't they upset you? Even just a little? The marks... it hurts, Jim. I can't remember. I want to know."

"Jim..." Reporter Jim worked his jaw, opening and closing his mouth several times. He was at a loss. "Jim... sometimes... sometimes it's just better not to know."

That left Cameraman Jim stricken. Never, in all their lives, had he heard his brother say those words. The Jim he knew would seek out all the answers, _any_ answers, dangers and consequences be damned. He wouldn't rest until all the questions were resolved, until he got his scoop, until the story was complete. But this... this past story; the manor. It had... been different. It had changed something. Something beyond just the physical marks.

Cameraman Jim's heart stuttered a bit in his chest. "Jim...." Movement in the mirror caught his eye, stealing the rest of the words away. He sucked in a tight breath. There, amidst the cracks, he could spy a shadowy figure with an eerie scowl and eyes burning like two lumps of coal. It was hovering behind his brother, arms reaching, ghostly appendages breaking through the barrier of glass to reach for the unsuspecting reporter.

In the same moment, a chill loomed at Cameraman Jim's back, and the 3D affect returned to the image on the view screen of his camera. He saw the color drain from his brother's face, but even then the pallor of white skin couldn't compare to the grey of those reaching arms; fuzzy at the edges, out of focus. Brown met brown and each pair was startled to find the same level of fear reflected back at them.

"JIM!"

Who shouted first? Did they shout in tandem at all? Or was it together, just a cacophony caused by one singular syllable in the still air? It was one question that would never be answered.

Freezing hands pressed at Cameraman Jim's back, and he felt more than saw himself toppling over the railing of the balcony. The rush of air stole the scream from his throat, and he watched as those etheral hands dragged the horrified form of his brother into the broken mirror. There was a thud, and a crack, and he knew no more.

\-------------------------

"And in other news. A broken camera was found at the side of the road near the infamous Markiplier Manor yesterday. Initially, authorities believed it to be beyond repair, but today they have managed to salvage the footage and have released it to the public. Rumor and speculation abound as those of us wonder, just what went on in that abandoned place? Is the footage real, or all a hoax? Perhaps some Hollywood advertising for an upcoming Halloween release? Maybe it's just a prank. One thing is for sure, the images found on the tape are graphic and mind-boggling, and viewer discretion is very much advised."

News Jim gently tapped his stack of papers against the desk. He swallowed hard; swallowed down the rising swell of emotions and rapidly blinked his eyes. The makeup would coverup the puffy redness, but he couldn't allow himself to cry. Not on the air. He cleared his throat.

"And now, the weather. Jim?"

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the family, baby jimmy boys


End file.
